When I went to study abroad in Paris, I did not expect to find a big sister, or a surrogate grandmother. Kyoko is a twenty-five year old student studying at the Sorbonne. Originally from Japan, she has been staying with Madame Brouard-Duval, my host mother, for the last year. I can honestly say that when she first walked through the door to our second-story apartment, I thought she was a model. Not a model, but a super-model. Living with her for almost four months has not dimmed her exquisiteness in my mind.

For the first week of my stay with these two women, I was stepping on egg shells, being unfamiliar to living with a very formal and very rich elderly French woman, and a gorgeous and worldly Japanese girl, a few years my senior. After the initial shock wore off, I became one of them. Whenever anybody asks me what I liked most about being in Europe, the first thing that pops into my mind is our nightly dinners. Though I enjoyed visiting the palaces of Loire Valley, paddle-boating in the canals of Amsterdam, climbing the Swiss Alps, seeing a concert in London, and being shown Normandy by a true member of the French Resistance, these experiences don't compare to our nightly dinners.

Perhaps these dinners were some of the best times I've had while in Europe because of their routine nature. Every night I would set the table, in a very formal, very French way, while Madame and Kyoko prepared the meal. Kyoko would cut avocados and Madame would stir the soup. Kyoko would slice the bread, and Madame would unwrap the cheese. When dinner was ready, Madame would shout, "Ka-tie, à table!" Of course, no dinner could ever start before Kyoko brought out her little jar of dried figs to eat for dessert, and Madame scolded her not to eat too many, and we all laughed. Sitting at the table, every night one of us would realize that I forgot to set something on the table, and would have to run back in the kitchen to fetch it. As we sat at the table and poured water, we would fight to be the one to not help ourselves first. And at the end of each course, Madame would always push Kyoko and me to finish the rest of the dish. Kyoko would religiously refuse, gracefully patting her stomach, professing that she had eaten too much, and that the food was too delicious, and would gesture to me to finish it.

Madame's and Kyoko's cooking were undoubtedly good, and Madame spared no expense to always buy the good bread and cheese and duck. But their conversation was the real meat of the meal. Madame always asked how our days were, and Kyoko would talk about her problem staying awake in her Latin class, or an eccentric professor at the Sorbonne. Madame liked to praise Kyoko's high marks at the dinner table, something which Kyoko would always politely say was inappropriate, and I really think she thought so. In this sense, as in others, Madame was like a mother or grandmother, who could not stop bragging about us to others, and to each other. She was also very nosy in a grandmotherly sort of way. Madame and I would always give each other knowing looks when Kyoko would talk about her Swedish boyfriend. Kyoko and I would always give each other knowing looks when Madame would start asking us about boys and the complaining about the "young people today." Sometimes Kyoko would tell us jokes, and sometimes we would get into debates about headdresses or Segolene Royal. But always, Madame would have news to tell us about some manifestation or other that was taking place on the streets down below. No topic was left untouched.

Madame was always especially eager to discuss culture and history, and when she took me to the ballet using her government tickets, she would explain the sculptures and paintings, and the differences in ballet styles. Sometimes Kyoko would go out to eat, and Madame and I would get to have dinner alone. I always looked forward to this, because although it was nice having dinner all together, when Madame and I ate alone we didn't sit in the formal dining room, but in the cozier kitchen, with Norah Jones playing in the background. We talked about our families, and Madame told me of her childhood, and of her late husband. We talked about my future, and she gave me advice about marriage, and boys in general.

Kyoko too, liked to talk about boys. Eventually I became her confidant and she would tell me how she thought that Tomas was the one, and how in love she was. We would leave each other notes in the bathroom we shared, and she would tell me about the "hip" places to go in Paris. She taught me how to put on makeup, and even let me use all of her high-quality products. Getting ready to go to the Opera House, she put on my eye make-up and did my hair, while Madame put on my lipstick. Kyoko and I liked to text-message each other during the day for encouragement, and we would drink her Chinese tea late at night after dinner. She liked to ask me grammatical questions for her English class, and would have me look over her English exercises, and she and Madame would take turns helping me to edit my papers.

Our waitress Tamzin made her way across the floor of the Blue Train Café. It was our last night in Melbourne and it was just as if the city wanted to give us our own special goodbye. The lights were talking, the water was dancing, and deep down inside we all couldn't bare to leave a city with such charm. I asked Tamzin for her absolute official opinion of why she loves Australia and this is what followed:

January, 24th 2007

Australia. There's a love that you come to find for this country. It's not so much that you find it, but more so that it finds you. I believe all 40 of us found that this winter from the very second we could spot the shine of the Sydney Opera House flirting with our eyes from the plane.

At the beginning of our trip, I don't think any of us could fully understand what we hand in store for us. Hot pink signs glazed all of Sydney and read, "This is our city in summer." Welcome.

We spent only a few days in Sydney before we traveled to Cairns. All the cafes and restaurants were perfect decoration for the streets. It was dazzled with the hints of summer. We took our trip to the Great Barrier Reef. As we drove along the road there was no doubt that it was stunning. The color combination of the blue water, white sand, and thick, green land was the perfect palette for that view. When we arrived at the reef, everyone took off in their skin-tight blue wet suits and spent their time discovering vibrant blue star fish, coral that stretched beyond imagination, and schools of local fish. It was amazing.

As we ended up back at our hotel, a few of us decided to spend some time by the pool and listen to a local band.

"Simone," he said his name was after I had questioned him.

I jokingly told him I would be his number one American fan if he played the songs I liked. We spent hours with our legs swinging on high stools and wooden deck beneath our feet. Before I knew it I was off by myself twirling and dancing around with my eyes shut and the Australian air. After Simone's night of music and American fans, he came up to me with a warm heart.

He said, "You and your friends made the show. Normally its good but you guys gave us such energy. It is really nice to find such nice genuine Americans."

To this day, I will never forget Simone, a singer/songwriter from Australia, who found beauty in the simplest night with a bunch of American college kids.

During our trip we found simplicity in the smallest moments. Whether we were sitting around listening to music, eating fresh mangos off of someone's lawn, or merely taking a tram ride into the city, everything was amazing.

When we got to Melbourne, we soon learned how to live in a city and not just visit it. We became locals and not just tourists. We stayed at Trinity College at the University of Melbourne. It was just a short tram ride into the center of the city. Melbourne was unique, with different districts screaming with different flavors. I learned that a city is like a person. It takes time. It can just show you its surface or you can get to know its secrets.

A local Australian explained to me, "Australia has a lot of secrets to offer." Precisely.

My first friend in Melbourne would have to be the 60-something year old man that I was dodging trams with. Apparently, we didn't realize we were walking on tracks. He helped me with directions and we had a great conversation. A conversation about the delicacy of our nearby Lygon Street, the class ,the high fashion, the European trend, and most of all, the people.

I spent a lot of time riding the trams of Melbourne. It was probably the easiest way for me to observe local Australians and discover the city's secrets. On a spontaneous rage, I hopped off the tram one day and went to join a young man with his guitar. I quietly sat near him and wrote in my journal as he sang his songs. We eventually ended up talking and I asked him to write in my journal for me. The best part of Australia to Marc?

"Ultimately, the freedom," he said.

Yes, the freedom we all found in that country. The freedom to meet different people from the opposite side of the world and still connect with him. We encountered so many different people in Australia. They ranged from indigenous Aborigines to rowdy cricket men. On January 12th ,dozens of rows high in the bleachers ,we found Pete and Jake. After spending at least seven hours with them, we walked away screaming, " Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!" as they replied with " Oi! Oi! Oi!"

We had met complete strangers who simply offered us seats next to them. We sat there with the Australian sunshine beating down on us as we tried ever so hard to understand the rules of Cricket. We listened to Pete and Jake try to explain the rules to us. We learned about their marketing jobs, their trips to California, and best of all some new chants.

"You're going home in the back of the divivan!" Apparently, it's a sort of cop car. As the night began to come out, we decided to leave our friends. I got yet another journal entry and an email address that still gets typed into my "compose message" to this day.

After gracing ourselves with sports, we spent the time trying to culture ourselves a little more. The Docklands in Melbourne are beautiful. It's a nice marina area with parks and restaurants, and especially, art galleries. Russell was his name. He wore glasses, a nice button down shirt, and short spiky hair. He must have known that three young women gallivanting around his art gallery were not actually going to buy any paintings worth thousands of dollars. Normally, we would have been treated rudely and with anger, but Russell was kind.

"Which is your favorite and why?" he asked us.

He told us one piece of advice when going into an art gallery, "Always pick a favorite piece. People too often gloss over pictures but when you pick just one, you have a certain appreciation for it. You are able to get to know it better."

After we left his beautiful gallery, I felt such a full feeling of satisfaction. We eagerly opened my journal to see what he signed.

"Australian light," he says, " can only be seen with the sun glaring in your eyes." There is nothing like this Australian sunshine I thought again to myself.

There was no better place to get a view of that Australian sunshine than 12,000 feet up in the air in the Gold Coast. On our free weekend, we traveled to the Gold coast and decided to pay people $350 American to let us put our lives in a stranger's hands and jump out of planes. Wayno was my instructor. As we're ascending and I am about to hyperventilate, Wayno decides to fall asleep. I almost killed him but we spent the rest of the ride laughing it off. I have managed to watch my skydiving video at least five times already. I still smile everytime I see Wayno pointing the video camera at himself and smiling.

After a fun weekend of surfing, zorbing, and skydiving, we returned to Melbourne for our last few days. My very last day in Melbourne I sat in Federation Square for hours. Street performers were attempting to humor the crowd, young professionals were hurrying away in suites, and tourists were flocking to the visitor center. I had a simple moments were I just sat there and watched a group of backpackers. I made eye contact with a stranger and we managed to have a silent conversation. They walked away to the train station after taking a quick glance back at me.

"Travelers," I thought, "Perfect strangers, but it's like you know them so well."

As difficult as it was to leave Melbourne, we were soon on our way to the Outback. From the airplane window I could see nothing but red, fiery, hot land to blanket everything in my eye's horizon. We spent our first evening at Red Center Dreaming to spend a night with the indigenous Aborigines. "Descendance" was their group name. They appeared in their indigenous costumes with painted bodies. I have never seen a show like this before in my life. The men in our group went up to try and play the didgeridoo and the crowd roared with laugher. The women tried to participate in an Emu dance and pranced along the center along the mountain. In my journal sits the drawing of an Aboriginal flag. Justin had drawn it for me. It is his favorite part of Australia.